


Waste Not My Heart

by AMuseForADay



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Bad Ass, Dark, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Klaybekah, Klayley, Lots of Arguing, New Orleans, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Protective Klaus, Slow Burn, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:04:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMuseForADay/pseuds/AMuseForADay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically a fanfic about Hayley Marshall, with a whole lot of domestic situations, sexual tension, things get kinda fluffy and heated, right before all hell breaks loose.  The storyline is loosely based on Season 1, but is completely original. No pun intended.</p><p>(Since I will also be involving a wolf pack, there are some ABO dynamics)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

                                                                                                **CHAPTER ONE**

                                                                                                In the Beginning

 

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I think. I think way too much. I consider that maybe life has always been a series of disappointments. Maybe life -my life- was always meant to be a ball of confusion, all rolled into a big cocoon of screwed up. I mean, that’s the only logical explanation I can pull out of my ass. Everyone in my life has let me down in one way or another. I’ve never expected anything good to happen, because usually when it does there’s always the shitstorm waiting tight on its tail.

 

My parents abandoned me. My adoptive parents basically threw me out on my ass because I was different. Every guy in my life has basically been a liar. I could go on, and I’m sure if I could list all the reasons why my life sucked, it would roll on a scroll halfway down any given street. But if I had to name the top reason that all changed? It would be getting knocked up…..I know, I know. How the hell is getting knocked up a good thing? Well, I didn’t think it was either. At least, not at the time.

 

When I found out, all I could think about was getting rid of it. It’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. I wasn’t even supposed to be pregnant. It was, like, supposed to be genetically impossible, considering my partner of choice. But I should have known that a one night stand with Klaus Mikaelson wouldn’t be the average roll in the hay. Of course, he’d be the “one in a million hybrid” -yes, you hear it with the quote fingers and all- that could get a wolf knocked up. I kept thinking I should have never gone to Mystic Falls, and probably should have stopped at the one glass of bourbon, and I reeeallly shouldn’t have gone anywhere near a hot, charming guy while I was in heat. But like I said, life… It’s chock full of should’ves, could’ves, and a whole lot of “if I had known that, I would’ves.”

 

When I went to New Orleans looking for information about my real parents, the clan I was from, and anything I could possibly find out about myself or my identity, I honestly hadn’t expected to find much. It figures that the one time I expected nothing, I got a lot more than I bargained for. Pregnant and freaking super nanny’d by a bunch of psychotic witches, hellbent on getting rid of some vampire named Marcel, or whoever. And who was the perfect pawn in the middle of an unseen chessboard to get Klaus to help with their Salem witch crusade? Little ole me. The choice they gave him was that they could kill me and his baby -both tied to some bitch named Sophie- or he could usurp Marcel from his very own French Quarter throne so the witches could use their precious magic that had apparently been banned during Marcel’s reign. His reaction when he found out -in a graveyard I might add- was that it couldn’t possibly be his and he didn’t care what they did to me.

 

I’ve faced rejection so many times that it practically became a lifestyle, and from him I couldn’t expect any more. I mean, the guy had about as much of a heart as a plank of plywood. Besides, he had his own plans and agenda where Marcel was concerned, and for him, this baby and I were just obstacles in the way. Examples of weaknesses he couldn’t have. Taking all of that into understanding consideration, I still found myself actually fearing for my life. But not just _my_ life anymore, but for the life that was growing steadily inside me.

 

It scared me, the protectiveness I felt, over a child that had barely formed. I didn’t know if it was a girl or a boy, but more than that, I didn’t know the first thing about being a mother. Especially in a life like this.

 

If not for his brother, Elijah, Klaus would have more than likely held true to his word. I didn’t know much about him, other than his none too impeccable reputation, but if only for his pride he would have left me in their hands if Elijah hadn’t been able to get through to him. Unlike Klaus, he was kind, noble, and cared about others more than he cared about himself. I couldn’t understand how they shared the same DNA, at all.

 

But that’s how I came to be here, three months later, confined to a plantation house for my own “safety,” only it feels strangely like house arrest for preggos.

 

“I don’t get why it’s so hard for you to just pick up a gallon of ice cream,” I say, features scrunched with rapidly growing annoyance as I stand before Klaus in all my barefoot glory, clad in an unflattering t-shirt.

 

I think I’m taking the “barefoot and pregnant” expectation a little too seriously.

 

Klaus looks at me in that condescending way that only he can before he answers me, albeit begrudgingly, “Look, love, this isn’t the bloody Hilton, and the last time I checked, I’m not a maid service. You want your ice cream, why don’t you ask my dashing big brothah to get it for you? He's always a sucker for the damsel in distress act.”

 

My jaw sets as I narrow my eyes, hands on my ever widening hips. There’s nothing I like being reminded of less than how whiny I sound. It’s _so_ far from who I am, “Because I asked _you_ , Klaus. You. You, who’s got me confined here like some dirty little secret, for my..” And there were the quote fingers again. “..safety. I never ask you for anything, and you can’t even bring me a gallon of freaking ice cream. I do have to eat, you know?”

 

A growl of frustration sounds low in his throat before he throws down the paper he was reading -you know, before I so nicely interrupted- and rises to storm from the room with purposeful footsteps. But I follow.

 

Unless the purpose of those purposeful footsteps is to get my ice cream, he’s not getting off that damn easily.

 

Aware that I’m behind him, he grumbles over his shoulder, “Yes, yes I know. But you could try vegetables. Very healthy, I hear.”

 

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?!” I exclaim.

 

Like a spectre, never making a show when he enters, Elijah stands blocking both our paths, and I wonder how long he’s been lurking around. As usual, he looks regal, serious, as if he’s contemplating every move he makes and has knowledge of every thought we have. He’s been kind to me though, for an Original. It’s no wonder he’s so infamous. For a much better reason than his pigheaded brother.

 

“Is everything alright?” He asks me, though his eyes rest on Klaus.

 

I smile caustically, before casting an ireful glance Klaus’s way. “No, everything is not alright. You know this asshole, you call a brother? I asked him to get me some ice cream while he was out, you know…” I gesture downwards to the lower half of my body. “..because I can’t _leave_ or anything, and he conveniently forgot.”

If Elijah can appear amused, he does right now, his respectful gaze in my direction as I spoke, transferring once again to a fuming Klaus. His tone belies the subtle amusement that his features mask, syllables delivered smoothly and with the articulate air of a gentleman, “While I would like to think that he is concerned for your safety in this matter, I will not spare you with fallacies. My brother may be many things, Hayley, but selfless, thoughtful, and obliging, are sadly not on his list of qualities. I do apologize on his behalf, and would be more than happy to get whatever it is you might need.”

 

Klaus gestures towards him, a patronizing smile on his face that’s dangerously brimming into smug territory. “There you have it. Now. You two have fun, I’ve got a kingdom to steal back.”

 

Even though he took the deal with the witches, the issue with Marcel has proven to be not so easily resolved. Marcel took things over when Klaus and his family left, he made New Orleans what it is now, and he’s definitely not itching to hand the reins back over to -for lack of better term- Daddy Dearest. Which means that Klaus has to play nice. And him playing nice usually means scheming behind someone’s back.

 

I roll my eyes as he brushes past Elijah and within the time it takes them to make full rotation, he’s gone. A sigh that sounds more like a growl of exasperation escapes my lips as my eyes meet Elijah’s. “Ugh! I don’t know how you can deal with him.”

  
His smile is kind, eyes reflective of his affection for Klaus, needing no eloquent or elaborate speech to explain the simple words he delivers in reply: “For better or for worse, he has been and always will be, my brother.”


	2. One Step Forward.....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah takes Hayley on an excursion to distract her from her spat with Klaus, but some things have a way of working themselves out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Inspired by We Must Be Killers by Mikky Ekko)

                                                                                    **One Step Forward….**

  
  


“The color is really quite exquisite on you.” 

 

I glare at Elijah’s reflection while examining my own in the floor length mirror, still uncertain of how I feel about the outfit that I’m trying on. My former wardrobe, you know the one I had before I was carrying another life inside of me, is getting a little snug around the midsection.  So Elijah’s idea of entertaining me, after the argument with Klaus, is having a custom outfitter come and doll me up in the latest fashion, and to let out some of my shirts and the few dresses I own, so that whatever clothes I have will also be suited for when I  _ really  _ have the belly of a whale. 

 

My breasts are considerably fuller, though hidden and confined in the modest neckline and simple cut bodice of the pastel pink tunic I wear. It flows from the bodice down over a pair of skinny jeans and is delicately fringed with lace, somehow managing to hide the pronounced bump I’m already sporting.  It’s not my usual attire, but literal beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.  Running  my hands over my stomach, and turning from left to right, I make a face. 

 

“I guess. So...you really are one of those old fashioned types, aren’t you? I mean, this  _ seriously  _ reminds me of every Victorian era movie I’ve ever had the misery of sitting through,”  I complain, though a small smile curves full lips upwards to show him that I’m only half kidding.  I really do appreciate everything he’s doing, even though playing dress up isn’t as distracting as he’d like to think it is. I’m pregnant, witches are threatening to kill me and my baby, and my baby’s father is a maniac. 

 

Elijah chuckles, folding his arms -somehow managing to make even that look regal- and leans to rest a shoulder against the doorframe, “I like to think of myself as one who can merge the past with the present. And I have quite fond memories of the Victorian era. I believe even you could have appreciated its culture, Hayley.” 

 

I roll my eyes, turning to face him as the stylist takes more measurements.

 

“Doubt it. I’m just glad I was born in the century with cell phones. But you’re right...I think it is  _ exquisite  _ on me. I’ll take it.  And that dress I tried on at the beginning, as well. The one with the flowers.”

 

The outfitter nods and busies herself as Elijah regards me thoughtfully.-

 

“What?”  

 

There’s a moment of silence before he finally speaks, and the question catches me off guard, “Have you thought of a name yet?”

 

Rolling  my shoulders in what’s supposed to be a nonchalant shrug, I consider my words carefully before I answer. I haven’t thought of a name. I don’t want to think about the name of a baby that could possibly be the damn hybrid Antichrist, or worse…. taken away from me at any moment. Because as I learned so early in life, everything good is always stripped away, no matter how much we might want it or how tightly we attempt to hold onto it. Would Klaus even want to keep me around after I’d spawned his heir? Not freaking likely.  I’m basically a walking, talking incubator that’s a pain in his ass until the baby is born and not much else. 

 

My hands press to my belly as I finally respond,  “I haven’t really thought much about a name...yet. It’s still kind of early, you know? I don’t want to jinx it or anything.” 

 

Elijah nods, his eyes saying he understands more than I dare to voice. We’re all waiting on the edge of a precipice with Klaus holding us by a very thin string, and Elijah knows better than anyone that it doesn’t take much for that string to snap.

 

“Very wise. Shall we venture for that ice cream, then? There’s a parlour on Magazine or was it Carrollton? Coldstone, I believe. There’s a Creole Creamery.” 

 

I laugh in amusement, thankful for the subject change as I turn to face him, head tilted with an eyebrow arched. 

 

“I thought vampires didn’t eat.”

 

“Oh, we don’t. But I have very fond memories of the enjoyment of the young ladies who would often venture there back in the fifties.” 

 

This brings a smile to my face, and I shake my head as I move towards him, “And to think,  everyone says Klaus is the Mikaelson Casanova.” 

 

His answering smile is one of pride.

* * *

 

The evening passes far too quickly before I’m being led back to the place I’ve come to know as a prison. I miss just being able to shift and run for miles. I miss the smell of green and the richness of the damp earth beneath paws that were made for the terrain. I missed the wolf within that was silenced by the child I carried in my womb. 

 

But I’m starting to think I don’t entirely regret it. It was so easy to remain removed from the child forming in my womb when I didn’t feel it shift, turn...when it didn’t seem quite real. When it wasn’t a part of me.  But now… Now my hand lowers instinctively to caress the firm roundness of my stomach as if gently assuring the life within.  I think it’s a girl. I have no idea how I know. It’s another thing that’s just...instinctive. 

 

I remain in my room, looking over the history of the Mikaelsons. There’s so much about this family that I don’t know or understand, but Elijah was kind enough to lend me what was documented and as I read I think I start to understand the siblings a little more. When you have a demented father who’s a self righteous asshole, and a mother who’s not the world’s shining example of fortitude, it would make anyone a little...well, fucked up. 

 

By midnight I’ve read so much that my head has begun to swim, and I’m seeing spots. And of course I’m craving once again. I doubt that anyone is here, as this is usually around the time they’re all running around the city playing kings and pawns, but I’m proven wrong when I walk into the kitchen to find Klaus. He looks up, expression almost boyishly sheepish in this way that makes me forget I’m supposed to be angry at him and I arch a brow, hand resting on my stomach. 

 

“What are you doing? Grabbing a midnight snack?”

 

“No, Little Wolf, as it happens, I was just restocking,” he says as he gestures to the freezer. 

 

I blink, but move towards it to pull open the door, eyes widening when I see several gallons of ice cream in varying flavors and brands. My expression returns to a neutral, almost bored canvas, voice attempting to sound irritated as I meet his gaze. 

 

“Thank you, but you’re still an asshole.” 

 

“You act as though I ever pretended to be anything else,” Klaus replies as he rests his back against the counter, arms folding over his broad chest.  

 

I snort and reach for the Butter Pecan flavor, before setting it on the counter and fishing for spoons. He doesn’t move, surprisingly, watching me as if fascinated by what I’ll do. But I surprise him, offering a spoon for him to take before opening the lid of the ice cream. 

 

“Since you bought it, you have to help eat it unless you have some creepy food watching fetish or something.” 

 

The expression on Klaus’ face is almost comical as he eyes it warily and I wave it around, daring him to take it, and I allow my head to fall back in a rare laugh that’s as exhilarating as it is wonderful. I haven’t laughed,  _ really  _ laughed in so long that it feels like forever. And this is what I needed. A release. Of tension. Of disbelief. Of fear. 

 

“It’s a spoon Klaus, not a stake. Come on, when’s the last time you had really good ice cream? Just because you’re a hybrid king or whatever, it doesn’t mean you can’t indulge.” 

 

“I indulge just fine without sweet treats,” he answers, but takes it anyway and moves forward. 

 

“Ah yes, in the blood of your enem--” My words are cut off and a hand flies to my stomach in surprise. 

 

Klaus’ expression immediately shifts and he drops the spoon to move towards me, concern in his eyes. He’s asking if I’m alright, but I can scarcely concentrate on the words, mesmerized by the phenomenon that’s taking place. I think I’ve imagined it, until I feel again. A gentle nudge, followed by a more powerful one at my belly. The baby is kicking. Before he can ask me again, I take his hands and place them on either side of my stomach, excitement and joy taking the place of reservation and the limited contact we’ve had since our one night stand.

 

I can feel him withdrawing, retreating away and into himself where it’s safe, until the baby kicks again as if she somehow knows that neither of us truly wanted to believe she was real and it makes unshed tears sting my eyes as I release a breath, “Do you feel that?” But I don’t need an answer. It’s all over his face, in his touch, the utter awe and near reverence with which his hands move over my stomach and I realize I’ve never seen him so truly happy before. Twistedly delighted that he’s won some move in his continuous game for power, and gloating for all to hear,  and I’ve seen him smile in quiet contemplation or agreement to things he would never give verbal assent to. But joy… pure and beautiful like this makes me feel something for him.

 

Something I shouldn’t….

 

Maybe it’s just the beauty of the moment... Of a love shared between two parents who are bound by their devotion to their blood, a creation of the two of them made one entity in a tiny being that’s so impossible it’s almost…. holy.  Perfect.  Maybe it’s the longing I hadn’t realized lay beneath all of the worry and exasperation for touch, for some kind of intimacy that I tried to pretend I didn’t need. Or maybe… maybe it’s just the way his eyes meet mine and I see the fierce protectiveness within them, of an Alpha willing to protect his offspring... A man willing to tear apart a city to reshape it for the love of this child, or maybe it’s just simple compulsion, but whatever it is it sparks something in the air between us. Desire that burns hotly in my veins and flushes cheeks that he grabs hold of to bring my lips to his as if he feels it as well, and the ice cream is forgotten, swept aside to melt and pool on the pristine of the floors as he lifts me onto the surface of the island. 

 

Hands grab and tear at his shirt, careless of whether he wants it in one piece or not as he rips the fabric of my dress, exposing bare skin that his lips explore as if for the first time and my chest seems to constrict as breaths become shallow, useless things. This is different… not the same as last time. His touch isn’t rough, as if he’s trying to lose himself in the violence of passion and the aggression of forgetfulness. It doesn’t lack the fire of his familiar passion, but is gentle, yet insistent, urged by a primal urge to claim and possess…. To worship. I hold his child, his future. What will I be to him when that tether is broken doesn’t matter. His nips at my collar bone, hands curving around my waist tell me that he will protect us, sacrifice for us, kill for us,  _ die  _ for us. 

 

My breasts are swollen, heavy with arousal with nipples that peak beneath his caress, tongue, teeth and I whimper helplessly, feeling the arousal pool between my thighs, soaking the thin threads of the panties he still hasn’t freed me from. And somehow we’re on the opposite counter with my back hitting the cabinets behind, sending pain that is not unpleasant searing with pleasure as his lips find mine again, hands working to free me of the remainder of my clothing that he hasn’t already ruined. And his taste is familiar, as my nails drag over the tattoo on his shoulder, tongue stroking mine in an erotic dance that makes my pulse race and skip, before my teeth pull at his lower lip, sharper canines piercing to elicit a low rumble of a growl from deep within his chest that makes me shudder. 

 

“Not here…” I manage to gasp out,  fingers tugging at his hair. 

 

And he doesn’t question, simply holding me securely to carry me from the kitchen and up the stairs. Even in my lust induced haze I expect him to go to my bedroom, but he bypasses it, moving on to his and the act in itself speaks volumes and I reach down to pull at his belt until it releases and swing it around my head, and he laughs. A strange, yet beautiful sound that does nothing to dampen the intensity of the connection as he lays me on the bed and I prop up on my elbows to watch him remove his pants. Klaus has a lean body, one with sinewy musculature that ripples beneath his skin, but there is power evident in every movement, the power of wolf and vampire that intertwined in his blood. Two strands of two different species, a testament to how unique he truly is. Even though others have called him an abomination. 

 

But in this moment, I see him as a god. 

 

When he moves atop me, I encircle my arms around his shoulders, lips parting in eager anticipation as he opens me up to him, his fingers finding and stroking the swollen wet heat of arousal between my thighs, while his tongue entices mine. It is sensual, erotic… And I realize… This must be what it’s like to make love.

 

I arch, breathless with the avidity of one who’s never been touched as sensation against sensitive flesh creates a conflagration within my body that cauterizes all wounds and incinerates fears. I allow myself to burn alive as pleasure heightens, swells, fills until the tension flares in a burst of color and the alacrity of ecstasy, swift and beautiful as he enters me. Breaths escape the fullness of parted lips and my back bends, toes curling as every powerful thrust hits deeply. 

 

We move together, harmonious, climbing the ascent of the mountain as the storm surrounds us, electric and chaotic. His breaths against my neck fan the flames, and I turn my head, giving him what I know he instinctively seeks, crying out as his teeth sink into my neck, not piercing, just marking as he sucks roughly.  And then it’s too much…pleasure too severe to withstand its pressure before it overtakes me, and I allow it to drag me under, pulling Klaus with me beneath the roaring tides. 


End file.
